


You Look Like You're Waiting For Someone [To Save You]

by HawkeTheKasbah



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:35:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25480021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawkeTheKasbah/pseuds/HawkeTheKasbah
Summary: Reyes' worst fear is realized: Scott is taken by his enemies and is hurt because of him.Scott's worst fear is realized: he gets hurt and Reyes blames himself for everything.
Relationships: Male Ryder | Scott & Original Male Character(s), Male Ryder | Scott/Reyes Vidal
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	You Look Like You're Waiting For Someone [To Save You]

**Author's Note:**

> This has been on my computer for how many years now...? Idk man. It was inspired by a couple of stories that involve Collective v Outcast plots, along with various "what ifs". This is my first time writing something like this, both in darkness of tone and of content. Here's hoping it's not utter shite.
> 
> PS: A warning, this contains both graphic violence and rape/noncon.

Everything was black when Scott came to. He tried to open his eyes, only to feel the telltale stretch of fabric over his face. Blindfold. Shit. He bloody hated the dark. Cords bit into his wrists as he yanked at them, testing the knots. He wasn’t getting out anytime soon, it seemed.  


“SAM?” He whispered as he tried to shake the drowsiness and aching headache from his mind. _SAM, what happened?_ He received no answer, much to his confusion and alarm. Had the Knights found him again? Had they figured out how to truly dispose of SAM?  


He started shaking his head, trying to at least loosen the blindfold. This seemed to be a bad plan, as there was a muffled commotion and someone shouting, “Looks like he’s awake.” He muttered a curse and rubbed his head against his shoulder, desperately trying to push it off. He froze when heavy footsteps stopped right next to him and he held a frown from his face.  


“Well would you look at that. Sleeping Beauty is back among the living.” Scott could just hear the smirk in the man’s voice. He twitched at the sound of another man chuckling not too far away from him. Two, at least.  


“What the fuck do you want?” Scott said bluntly, not in the mood for games.  


“Let me cut to the chase. We know you’re close with the Charlatan. You’re going to tell me what you know, and you can go. Simple, really.” Bullshit.  


“Or, you can let me go and maybe I won’t shoot you in the face,” Scott deadpanned. He wasn’t ignorant in the art of pain, nor the art of anger, but he had to admit that he wasn’t fully prepared for the fist that collided with his jaw. He heard laughter from the other man in the background.  


“You know, you’ve a pretty face, Pathfinder,” the man was walking around him, unabashedly looking him over. “It’d be a shame to have it ruined over some Kadaran scum.”  


Scott’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.  


The man let out a sigh and took hold of Scott’s already sore jaw, pulling him close enough to feel the man’s breath fanning across his face.  


“Come now, Ryder,” he chided. “Make this easier on yourself. You owe nothing to the Collective. This is your last chance.”  


“Get bent, fucker,” he growled, spitting blood and saliva onto the floor.  


“You’re pretty feisty,” the man whispered, suddenly close enough for his breath to fan across Scott’s face. “I like that.”  


A surge of panic caused Scott to jump and try to pull himself away as the man kissed him, the man’s vice grip on his jaw holding him in place. A tongue shoved its way past his lips and greedily lapped at his teeth, drawing a rather offended sound from the back of Scott’s throat. Blinded by a mixture of indignation and terror, Scott brought his teeth down onto the invading tongue, managing to pull away from the forced kiss when the hand gripping his face let go in favor of moving to his own mouth.  


The man howled in pain. “You bitch!” He’d been expecting to be hit again, but the blow to his face still carried a harsh sting and forced out a gasp of pain as his head whipped to the side on impact. He didn’t even have enough time to react as the man yanked him from the chair and threw him onto the floor, where he landed in a pained and awkward heap. “You listen here now,” he growled in Scott’s ear, sending chills down his spine. “We can do this the easy way, or you can suffer. Now, I’m all for your suffering, but it’s up to you.”  


Scott’s blood ran cold and he was suddenly paralyzed with fear. He couldn’t think, all he could do was squirm uselessly against his captor. He’d landed funny on his wrist, and his ears were ringing. His lack of response seemed to please the man. “Poor choice indeed,” he said in a sinister tone as he tore the boy’s shirt open. A rough hand slid down the naked flesh, pausing to squeeze here and there before gradually traveling to his pants.  


“No,” Scott muttered, his voice rapidly filling with more and more panic the further down his hand traveled. “No… no no no!”  


He felt the blindfold get heavier as his tears soaked the material. In a moment of panic, he began thrashing about, trying to throw off the hand, the blindfold, to make it more trouble than he was worth, to get free, anything.  


“Shh, princess, no need to fuss. No one will hear you.” Another hand came down, meeting its fellow at his waist where he yanked Scott’s pants down with little fanfare. “No one is coming. Right now it’s just you and me.”

\--

Moans and whimpers of pain and discomfort echoed throughout the room, punctuated by the occasional grunt of pleasure.  


He knew that nothing he said at this point would help him and he tried his best to not give them the satisfaction, but he was certain that the tear soaked blindfold and the noises that were forced out of him were very much being taken into account. The traitorous arching of his back as he was pushed into again and again.  


He’d tried almost everything he could think of and they’d let him fight until he was too weak to resist. He’d found out the hard way about the biotic inhibitors, he’d found out that squirming and thrashing only amused them, and that kicking and lashing out at them was as good as useless with such limited mobility. But he’d tried, God, he’d tried. He’d fought them until he was too weak to try and break free, even after they’d untied his wrists to pin them above his head, peppered kisses and vicious bites down his throat in some sick caricature of intimacy.  


He’d no clue how long it had been when the weight finally lifted off of him and the restraints went back around his wrists and ankles. Since he’d curled into the fetal position and waited to die. He wasn’t sure if it had been minutes or hours, or even days until he heard a door opening and guns firing and the voices of Drack and Peebee in the distance.  


He couldn’t register what was being said, only that someone was cursing and lifting him off of the floor. Peebee was talking to him, too loudly, the blindfold was peeled from his face and his restraints were cut. The only thing that he said when he could find his voice again was, “Can we go now?” And then, without further ado, he’d passed out.


End file.
